


oh, baby we've got smoke in our lungs

by amaanogawa



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - College/University, Artist!Keith, Drunken Shenanigans, Falling In Love, Fluff, Fratboy!Shiro, Getting Together, Hand Jobs, M/M, Mutual Pining, also a hint of barista AU, unrealistically powerful kegstands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-29
Updated: 2018-03-29
Packaged: 2019-04-14 11:41:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14135346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amaanogawa/pseuds/amaanogawa
Summary: "But that’s also precisely why Keith is terrified of Shiro- because he brings coffee in the morning and he loves the stars and has a few broken edges himself, but is nevertheless strong and brave and good.It’s a potent recipe for disaster."





	oh, baby we've got smoke in our lungs

**Author's Note:**

> [i drew a thing for my own fic because nobody will love me like i love me and also because fratboy shiro is my whole reason for living](http://amaanogawa.tumblr.com/post/172742076398/fixing-the-lack-of-fratboy-shiro-material-in-this)
> 
> EDIT: now with more lovely fanart by butter_biscuit1! you can check it out [here](https://www.instagram.com/p/Bj0IAMSFomj/?taken-by=butter_biscuit1) and [here](https://www.instagram.com/p/Bj26W_AFHng/?taken-by=butter_biscuit1)!

Keith likes mornings.

He likes to wake up just as the sun is peeking over the horizon, light barely spilling across the way. It's the perfect time to curl up with his sketchbook, tucked away in some unimportant space and just _exist_. Life is too loud almost all of the time; there are too many things to do, assignments to complete, shifts at the coffee shop to get to, rent to pay. But during those quiet mornings when he can take some time to remember why he loved drawing so much that he worked his ass off to save up enough money to enroll in the best fine arts program in the city, life seems a lot more simple.

The scenery varies from day to day.  Sometimes it's his university, sometimes a quaint cafe, sometimes a bench in the city. But usually it's just one of various parks within walking distance of his apartment, where he'll sit and draw anything that catches his eye until his morning lecture. Propped up underneath a tree, a thermos of coffee by his side with his fingertips covered in charcoal is when Keith feels most at peace with himself. It's a simple sanctuary for an orphan who did nothing but bounce from foster home to foster home until he turned 18, each one worse than the last, the record of which was kept neatly in blue ink under the lip of his left sneaker.

It's still dark out this particular morning when Keith tugs on his favourite red hoodie, sleeves frayed at the edges, and a pair of ripped jeans that hadn't been ripped when he first bought them years ago. The air is crisp and cool as he heads towards the park closest to his university, earphones in and backpack slung over his shoulder. By the time he reaches the park and takes a seat under his usual tree, the sky is just starting to turn the faintest shades of pink- except something strange is buzzing in the air this morning. Keith can feel it, like threads pulled taught suspending something a mere moment from falling.

He turns, wind carding through his hair, and he _sees_.

A guy about his age, maybe a couple years older, jogging through the park. He's got an obvious muscular build, broad shoulders, a tapered waist underneath a black hooded windbreaker, black leggings underneath black shorts with reflective purple stripes down the sides and highlighter yellow running shoes. He's also wearing a backwards hat with a tuft of white hair poking through the hole above the adjustable strap.

Their eyes meet as the guy jogs past, the wires of his earphones bouncing to his strides. He flashes a small smile at Keith before lifting a few fingers in greeting as he continues on. It's a brief interaction, so unspectacular that normally Keith wouldn't even remember it by that afternoon. But he has a strange feeling in his chest as the retreating back of the jogger disappears over the next hill. Keith's fingers are tingling as he seats himself under his usual tree, opening his sketchbook to a fresh page. The charcoal in his hand feels alive this morning, running across the page of its own accord over and over until the smudged monochromatic face of the jogger is staring back at him, smiling just as handsomely as he had moments prior.

As a general rule, Keith doesn't draw people. People are dishonest and unkind.

People leave.

He doesn't think much of it, really. The jogger did have objectively proportionate facial features that makes him pleasant to draw. It doesn't matter because Keith likely won't ever see him again. Whatever it is about the guy that seems to set Keith's instinctual alarms off is completely irrelevant.

Except, purely by coincidence Keith wakes up earlier than usual again the next morning. There's a spark of curiosity burning in his chest that he ignores as he gets ready for his day, but before he even realizes it his feet have taken him back to the same park as the day before. And as if on cue, the jogger comes rounding the corner, wearing the same backwards hat and obnoxiously bright running shoes as last time, but otherwise a different workout outfit. Again, he notices Keith, his brows raising slightly in surprise. Again, he offers a small smile and a wave before continuing on.

Again, the nameless face of the handsome jogger finds its way onto the page of Keith's sketchbook.

Keith stares back at the pleasantly smiling charcoal face in confusion before slapping his sketchbook closed with furrowed brows. It doesn't mean anything. It's irrelevant.

He doesn't think too much about it. Not when he arrives at the same park early the next day, or the next, or the morning after that. Not when he starts to look forward to the wave of large, beautiful fingers, or a blinding smile that gets brighter and friendlier with recognition as the days go on.

Keith just- he just doesn't think about it.

\---

"Woah, you drew portraits? You never draw people."

Hunk is sitting at their kitchen table, flipping through Keith's sketchbook as they both sip on mugs of hot chocolates. Keith really likes having Hunk as a roommate. He's nice and respectful of Keith's space and there's always leftovers in the fridge for Keith to heat up after his late lectures, not to mention that Hunk regularly insists on making him hot chocolate with hand beaten whipped cream. After almost a full year of living together, Keith has warmed up to Hunk enough that he lets him look through his sketchbook on occasion during their late night hangouts in the kitchen.

"Yea. It's a jogger that was running the trail in West Park."

Hunk squints at the page, frowning slightly and tapping his finger against his chin. "Y'know, this looks a lot like Shiro, actually. But you're missing his scar."

"Shiro?" Keith raises his brows as he takes another sip of his hot chocolate, licking the cream off his top lip. "Who's that?"

"Takashi Shirogane? The president of Alpha Lambda Psi fraternity?"

The name doesn't ring a bell. After all, Keith doesn't really take interest in those sorts of activities on campus. He can't imagine anything he'd hate more than being in a fraternity, with big alpha male type dudebros shoving at each other and getting drunk and cat calling women. It doesn't really match the image of the friendly jogger that he has built up in his mind so far. Keith blinks, raising his shoulders in a shrug. "Never heard of him."

Hunk flips the sketchbook shut and hands it back to Keith with a chuckle. "You're probably the only person who hasn't. Shiro's like, the golden boy of our school. He's a really awesome dude, super nice. If you like him so much that you're drawing his face over and over again, you should talk to him! Oh, but he has a big scar over his nose. You missed that in your sketches."

A flush works its way over Keith's cheeks. "I don't _like_ him. I don't even know him. He's just always there when I am, that's all."

"Uh huh." Hunk finishes off the last of his drink before standing up and rinsing it out at the sink. "Sure you don't. You don't have to be embarrassed, buddy. Just about the entire school has a crush on the guy, you know."

With that, Hunk shoots him a loaded grin before saying good night and heading up the stairs. Keith sits at their kitchen table for awhile longer by himself, sipping on his hot chocolate pensively and rolling the foreign name around on his tongue.

_Takashi Shirogane._

Later that night before he goes to sleep, he gets his charcoal out and draws a long scar over the bridge of his sketches' noses. It fits there for some reason. It looks right, even if he hadn't ever noticed it in the barely disappearing darkness of early dawn, all the times he had seen Shiro.

No, not _Shiro_. Just a jogger in the park.

Keith sleeps in the next day and goes to a cafe instead.

\---

It's a slow day at work and Keith is bored out of his mind. He's wiping down the serving counter for the tenth time just for something to do when he hears the bell on the door jingle.

"Welcome." He says, and goes to put the cloth away before looking up at the customer.

"Oh, hey! It's you!"

Oh hell.

Who else could it be standing there in his empty coffee shop but Takashi Shirogane, the person Keith had vehemently convinced himself that he would never actually meet. But there he is in all his glory, dressed in a grey and white Henley rolled up to the elbows and a pair of dark wash jeans that to be quite honest, is doing him _all kinds_ of favours. It's only then that Keith notices that his right arm is actually what looks like a metal prosthetic, and true to Hunk's word, he does have a rather glaring scar across the bridge of his nose that Keith hadn't noticed in the poor lighting all the times they'd met before. Keith doesn't let his eyes linger so as to avoid being rude, and slides his gaze up to Shiro's face.

"You're the guy with the sketchpad at West Park! I've been wondering where you've been lately, it's hard finding another early riser around here." Shiro grins, reaching up to rub at the back of his neck sheepishly. "You haven't been around the past few days so I was getting kind of worried. I mean I know we don't know each other or anything. I guess I just got used to seeing you in the morning."

"Oh." Keith stares, brows raised. He could never have guessed that Shiro would care that much about their small, invaluable routine in the morning. A tiny flicker of guilt squirms in the pit of Keith's stomach for avoiding him when he really hadn't done anything wrong- but it doesn't matter anyway, does it? It's not like they even know each other. "Yea, I've been busy lately. Haven't had time to go. Your order, sir?"

Shiro chuckles, sounding a little embarrassed. "That's what I guessed it probably was. Uh, I'll get an iced coffee please."

Plucking a plastic cup from the pile, Keith scribbles a C with a black marker and then pauses momentarily. He knows Shiro's name for the order, but to just write it without asking would be to admit that he knows his name like some sort of creepy stalker. Keith clears his throat and doesn't look up.

"Um, your name, sir?"

"Oh, it's Shiro! Or uh, Takashi Shirogane, but all my friends call me Shiro. I mean, everyone calls me Shiro actually, not just my friends. Not to say that I don't consider you my friend! I just meant- a-anyway, what's yours?"

There's a blush spreading across Shiro's face, his scar standing out stark white against the pink and he's looking at Keith with an expression that's both mortified and expectant at the same time. This isn't the person that Keith had expected when Hunk told him _president of a fraternity_. He hadn't been expecting blushing and stuttering and big doe eyes on that kind of a physical stature, but it was definitely a pleasant kind of surprise, one that he can't help but crack a smile at.

"I was just asking for the cup." He gestures to the cup in his hand and wiggles the marker in the other. "So I could write your name for your order."

"...oh. Of course you were." Shiro buries his face in his hands and lets out a quiet groan. "Okay. Sorry. Let's just pretend none of this happened and we can go back to waving at each other at the park in the mornings. Deal?”

Keith laughs, a real, genuine laugh and he can't help but wonder how long it's been since he found a stranger so alluring. He scribbles Shiro's name on his cup before ringing him up on the cash register. "Nope. Gonna keep this for blackmail material just in case. That'll be $2.95."

"Here I thought you were just a quiet guy who wakes up early and likes to draw. But I was wrong, you're actually evil. Can't judge a book by its cover I suppose." Shiro slides a five dollar bill across the counter and plunks the change that Keith hands him into their tip jar and okay- Keith is _really_ starting to like this guy.

"Oh, is that so? I've been told that I look quite sinister, actually." The whirring of the coffee machine interrupts their conversation for a few moments as Keith prepares Shiro's drink. He caps the beverage and grabs a straw, handing both over to Shiro with a small smile. "I'm Keith. To answer your question from earlier."

The flush is emerging once again over Shiro's cheeks as he presses his lips together and honest to god pouts just a little. "You're really not going to let that go, are you Keith?"

Truth be told, Keith has never really cared much for his name but it sounds and feels extraordinarily good in the smooth baritone of Shiro's voice, coming from Shiro's mouth, under Shiro's expressive gunmetal eyes. The man is definitely a lot to take in at once even if he was only physically attractive, because we're talking like, really, really physically attractive. But no, he's friendly and funny and to be blunt, kind of a dork too. _And_ he tips.

Keith grins, putting on his falsetto customer service voice that has Shiro rolling his eyes in an instant. "Have a nice day, oh valued customer!"

"Yea, yea. I'll have to watch it with you, now that I know you're actually evil underneath that pretty exterior. See you around, Keith." Shiro shoots him a smile as he picks up his drink and turns towards the door, and Keith barely has time to process the fact that _Shiro just called him pretty_ when Shiro is turning back already, mouth opening in a question. "By the way, would it be okay if I came and sat with you next time we see each other at the park? I wanted to ask just in case you'd rather be left alone, which I would completely understand."

"Oh, um." Since Keith started his daily ritual in the early mornings way back in high school, basically as soon as he was allowed to walk to school by himself, he has never shared it with anyone else. That time in the morning is sacred to him. It's the only snippet of his day that is his time and his time alone, which is why Keith goes to tell Shiro as politely as he can that he'd rather not, but-

No one has ever joined him, but then again, no one has ever asked to. Keith's instincts are shouting _no_ , his walls are on the precipice of going up to shut everything out just as they're used to doing. It's what he does, his first defence mechanism to protect himself because people are dishonest and unkind and worst of all people leave, even when you don't want them to. Especially when you don't want them to.

"Sure, do whatever you'd like." Is what ends up coming out of his mouth, and the responding smile Shiro gives him shines with the radiance of a hundred suns and Keith finds himself squinting a little in the face of it all.

"Great! See you around then!"

With a wave, Shiro's gone, leaving Keith alone in the coffee shop for some reason feeling exhausted to the bone and vaguely like he had just survived a hurricane.

\---

He waits another day to go back to West Park just because he feels weird claiming to be busy and then suddenly being free enough to go right after he meets Shiro at work. Keith wakes up feeling strangely fidgety as goes about getting ready, brushing his hair and tying it back in a low ponytail before he comes to a stop in front of his closet. No. He isn't doing this. He isn't going to hum and haw over his outfit for the day like he's a tween getting ready for a date with a cute boy. Keith scoffs and rolls his eyes at himself, but after a moment's hesitation he picks out a nice pair of skinny black jeans, a white button up shirt and his favourite red jacket.

Okay, so he wants to look good in front of Actual Roman God Takashi Shirogane. Sue him.

Keith throws his sketch pad, his usual thermos of coffee and his textbooks for the day into his backpack and leaves his apartment, stuffing his hands in his pockets as he walks. It's a beautiful morning, warm with a cool breeze, and it’s a comfortable 10 minute stroll to the park. By the time he gets there, Shiro is already standing under Keith's usual tree, a cardboard tray in his hand with two cups nestled inside. When he spots Keith rounding the corner, his face lights up in a smile.

"Good morning! I brought coffee, but I didn't know how you take it so I have creamer and sugar too."

"Oh..." Keith widens his eyes in surprise, shrugging his backpack higher up on his shoulder and feeling his own thermos of coffee jostle inside. "That's really nice of you, thanks. Just black is good."

He accepts the coffee cup that Shiro hands him and takes a tentative sip, feeling vaguely like he's missing something. As they both go to take a seat on the grass, Keith realizes that there’s no way Shiro could have known that he was coming today, so he wonders what Shiro would have done with the coffee if he hadn’t shown up.

“How’d you know I was coming today?” Keith asks, watching curiously as Shiro chuckles sheepishly, pulling his own cup out of its holder and pointedly fussing around with its sleeve before replying.

“I didn’t. I brought coffee yesterday too.” He admits, avoiding Keith’s eyes. “I thought maybe you’d just overlook it, but you’re pretty observant, aren’t you?”

It feels weird to be sharing this time of his day with someone else, much less someone who Keith quite frankly knows next to nothing about, but as he stares at Shiro’s quickly reddening face with a mixture of surprise and bemusement, he doesn’t regret his decision one bit.

“What’d you do with the second coffee?”

“I drank it. Thanks to you I didn’t sleep until 3am.”

Keith bursts out into laughter, his body shaking as he curls in on himself while sputtering on a mouthful of coffee.

He’s so used to keeping his walls up and forcing everyone out but in a matter of weeks Shiro has somehow found the kink in his iron defense. It’s hard _not_ to like Shiro, and as the days pass and meeting Shiro in the mornings becomes less of a deviation from normality and more of a routine in itself, that sentiment only becomes more and more apparent. Their mornings together are usually surprisingly quiet, because although Shiro is good at making small talk Keith finds that he actually prefers to meditate or stretch silently while Keith draws. One morning he falls asleep stretched out in the grass and Keith can’t resist sketching his profile, framed by small white clover flowers dotted in the lush green, looking more serene and beautiful than Keith has ever seen him.

On the days that they do lapse into chatter, they talk about anything and everything. Shiro talks about being in the astronomy and physics program, and how he chose to enroll in the school because of Professor Holt, who he’s hoping will agree to be his thesis advisor for his Masters. When Shiro talks about the stars, his eyes light up with wonder and he always looks towards the sky, gesturing in grand sweeps of his arms. Keith loves it when Shiro tells him the names of different stars and their histories. He hugs his legs to his chest and leans his cheek against his knees, smiling as Shiro lists them one by one: Denebola, Rigel, Arcturus, Saiph, Bellatrix.

One day Shiro alludes to his arm by accident and stops cold, looking hesitant all of a sudden.

“You don’t have to tell me.” Keith says, gentle. “We all have things we’d rather not relive.”

Relief floods Shiro’s expression as he continues his story, skipping any mentions of his arm or his scars, the one on his face and the ones Keith has seen peeking out from the necklines of his shirts sometimes, entirely. Keith doesn’t mind.

When Shiro asks him about his family Keith simply shrugs.

“Don’t have any.” He says, and Shiro nods and continues on without even blinking, just like that.

They fit well together. It’s obvious that there are things they both cannot talk about for now, but neither of them are in a rush to force it out. Keith wants to tell Shiro more about himself. He wants to tell him all about how growing up in the system was forfeiting any control you had over your own life. It was watching your foster parents spend government sanctioned money to buy their own kids a new toy instead of on their foster child as it was supposed to be spent. It was sleeping in the guest bedroom at first, and then eventually the basement, and then finally a dusty, drafty attic. It was having your foster siblings tell everyone at school that you have no parents and you’re just mooching off of their family, so that the rest of the kids turn their noses up at you and call you _a_ _smelly orphan_.

Keith wants to tell Shiro how none of that bothered him really, because he didn’t care about any of them anyway.

But that’s also precisely why Keith is terrified of Shiro- because he brings coffee in the morning and he loves the stars and has a few broken edges himself, but is nevertheless strong and brave and good.

It’s a potent recipe for disaster.

\--

“Sorry, you want me to _what_?”

Shiro laughs, fixing Keith with a bemused look. “Keith, calm down. It’s just a party.”

“A _frat_ party.” Keith says, raising his brows. “And you want _me_ to go? Do you know me?”

“I’m inviting you. It’s up to you whether or not you want to come. I thought it might be fun for you to visit the house, meet the boys.”

“The boys.”

“Yea! They’re great guys, honestly. Anyway, it’s tonight at 9 if you’re up to it. If not, I’ll see you tomorrow at the usual time.”

Keith hates how genuine Shiro is about it, because it’s _so_ hard to say no to Shiro’s smiling face and frankly Keith considers himself an expert at worming out of social invites. But even if he’s going to go, he sure as hell isn’t about to show up alone. So later that day when he gets home after his lectures, he braces himself and walks hesitantly into the kitchen where Hunk is humming away at the stove.

“Hey, Hunk.”

“Hey Keith, welcome back. I’m making Pasta Putanesca for dinner.”

“Yea, smells great. Uhm.” Keith clears his throat, shrugging his backpack off and setting it on one of their kitchen chairs. “I was wondering if you have any plans for tonight?”

“Nah, not really. Why? Hand me some plates please.”

“I was wondering-” He opens the cabinet door where they keep their plates, pulling two out and setting it down on the counter beside Hunk, who lifts his frying pan and divvies the pasta inside in half onto each. Taking a deep breath, Keith continues. “If you want to go to a party with me.”

Hunk nods amicably, opening his mouth to say “Sure-”, but then stops cold, jerking his head up, brows shooting up towards his hairline. His hand slips on the pan and a few pieces of stray pasta slide onto the floor. “Wait, _what_? A party? Who, _you_? _Keith_? A party?”

Yea, that was about the reaction Keith had expected.

“It’s at the Alpha Lambda Psi house.” Letting out a huff, Keith bends to pick up the pasta pieces from the floor and pops them into his mouth. “Shiro invited me.”

 “Oh man. Oh _man_.” Hunk snickers, bringing both plates over to the dinner table as Keith grabs two forks for them. “Shiro is a _wizard_. There’s gotta be some sorcery involved if he got you to agree to go to a party. And not just any party. A _frat_ party.”

“Alright, alright. Stop being an asshole and just- will you come with me or not?”

Hunk snickers between bites of pasta, damn him, and finally looks up with a cheeky grin. “Baby’s first party? I wouldn’t miss it for the _world_.”

And that’s how Keith finds himself standing in front of the Alpha Lambda Psi fraternity house approximately 2 hours later, a giant looming white and blue Victorian-esque house with their respective golden Greek symbols above the door. There are people everywhere, drinking and laughing and dancing to the booming music, and Keith is already sweating in his leather jacket though it’s fairly cool outside.

“Go on.” Hunk nudges his shoulders comfortingly, giving him a smile. “Don’t freeze up now buddy.”

Keith takes a deep breath before willing himself forward, raising a gloved hand to press the doorbell. He hears the subsequent chime from inside the house, hears people shouting and footsteps approaching the door before it swings open to reveal Shiro, looking slightly out of breath and grinning wide. He’s wearing a loose grey muscle tee with a white skeletal design and black joggers that sit low on his hips, as well as his usual backwards snapback. Keith’s heart nearly beats out of his chest, because even though Shiro is always more than easy on the eyes, tonight the mere sight of him is making Keith feel like there’s smoke in his lungs, burning him up where he stands.

 “Keith!” Shiro beams, eyes twinkling, and pulls Keith into a tight hug. “You came!”

Without taking a breath to let Keith reply, he turns to Hunk, pulling him into a hug as well. “And you brought Hunk!”

“Hey, Shiro.” Hunk laughs good naturedly, patting Shiro on the back.

They’re whisked inside after that and Hunk promptly excuses himself to go find a friend, so Keith is left with Shiro leading him around with a hand on the small of his back and it’s a whirlwind of people and music and cigarette smoke. Keith has attended the odd party but never one this big, this rambunctious, this _loud_. Shiro stays with him the entire time, even when people come up and try to pull him away, and after a while it becomes easier to let his shoulders relax as he sips on whatever is in the red solo cup Shiro had pushed into his hands earlier. The mood feels different from when they hang out in the mornings. Shiro presses closer and laughs more, his eyes igniting embers in the pit of Keith’s stomach to the point where he can’t tell if the burn of his cheeks is from the booze or if it’s from the way Shiro bites his bottom lip after someone makes a cringe worthy joke. Keith is already beginning to feel the buzz start and he hasn’t even finished his drink yet- but it makes it that much harder to control his gaze, which wants to drop increasingly lower on Shiro’s body, from his eyes to his jawline, then to the impressive breadth of his shoulders, to his biceps, to his waist, and then-

“Yo, Shiro!” A booming voice jolts Keith out of his haze, and he looks up to see a tall, lanky looking guy grinning from beside a keg, Hunk behind him. “There’s our reigning keg stand king! Let’s get the Champion over here to start us off!”

“Lance,” Shiro laughs, looking slightly cocky as he leans against the counter and raises his brows. “Shouldn’t the champ go last? If I start us off the rest of the night will just be disappointing, no?”

A chorus of wolf whistles and booing alike starts up, people coming over to smack Shiro on the back as he keeps his stare fixed on Lance, who laughs and puts up his hands in surrender.

“Alright, alright,” he says, prompting everyone to quiet down. “So our Champion’s on a bit of a victory high, eh? Well what about you, mullet head? Care to give it a try?”

Keith raises his brows as everyone turns to stare at him.

“His name’s Keith.” Shiro’s tone sounds casual enough but there’s something more there, a warning hidden in the timber of his voice that Lance swallows at. Keith appreciates that Shiro is looking out for him but he doesn’t need to be protected, _especially_ not from this smug looking Lance fellow, so he sets his cup down on the counter and steps towards the keg with his chin tilted up.

“Yea I’ll try,” he says, meeting Lance’s eyes. “Start counting.”

“You need a boost?” Lance laughs, teasing.

Rather than replying, Keith nods towards Hunk and then leans forward to place his palms on the keg handles before pushing his body up into a handstand, prompting a sea of hooting and hollering from the quickly forming crowd. Hunk lifts the mouth piece to his lips and the counting begins; Keith tries to hide his grimacing as he swallows because quite frankly he’d rather drink anything other than beer, but he manages to hold on for 58 seconds out of sheer spite from being called _mullet head_ before the churning of his stomach forces him to flip back onto his feet. The noise is deafening as he sways a bit on his feet, disoriented from the blood that had rushed to his head and he feels a pair of hands on his shoulders, keeping him steady.

“ _Damn_ , dude!” Lance grins, patting him on the back. “Man who woulda thunk you had that in you? No lifters!”

“Thanks.” Keith smirks, raising his brows. “Go on then, get up there.”

The whistling and jeering starts with renewed vigour at Keith’s challenge, to which Lance raises his arms and steps up to the keg.

Keith takes the moment to take a breath, feeling dizzy from the beer pooling warm in his belly when an arm nudges at him and Shiro is there, smiling as he always is.

“Colour me surprised.” He says, voice low. “Quiet artist type my ass.”

Something about the melted chocolate tone of Shiro’s voice makes Keith’s eyes go half lidded as he elbows him back. “I _am_ the quiet artist type- who also has a black belt in jiujitsu. Why does that surprise you?”

Shiro’s eyes narrow further and the noise of the party is drowning out around them as he leans in, breath smelling of rum and coke. “I find that I’m usually surprised when it comes to you, Keith.”

There’s no telling how long they stand there like that, sides pressed up against each other worlds away from the rest of the room, because the beer is hitting Keith all at once and everything feels softer, the world is rounding at the edges and all he can see is Shiro. Keith wants to lean in, wants to feel for himself if Shiro’s lips are as soft as they look and there’s the vague thought that reminds him they’re still in the kitchen of the Alpha Lambda Psi fraternity house but most of him doesn’t care, not really, but then just as Keith is leaning in it’s Shiro that takes a step back.

“ _Champ_!”

A chant is starting up in the room, people pumping their fists in the air as they shout _champ-i-on! Champ-i-on!_ Shiro gives Keith a wink, pulling his snapback off and plopping it on Keith’s head before leaving his side to step up to the keg. And god, as if the sight of Shiro’s biceps alone, flexing in effort as he boosts himself upside down isn’t enough to get Keith feeling some kind of way, but then his shirt falls to his chin once he’s upside down showing off a light trail of hair between the hard V of Shiro’s hips, disappearing under the waistband of his sweats, and of _course_ Shiro has a defined six pack abs and bulging pecs and Keith is stuck between wanting to burn the image into his mind and needing to look away so that he doesn’t get hard in a room full of people.

It goes without saying that Shiro lasts way longer than anyone else, 112 seconds, before he flips himself upright and the room goes _crazy_ with cheers, people are running up to jump all over Shiro and he’s laughing, swatting them away as he makes his way back to Keith to reclaim his hat.

Sometime between then and now Lance goads Keith into tequila shots with nothing but the raise of his brows and a look in his eyes. Through the taste of salt on his tongue and a burning in his stomach, Keith doesn’t remember the last time he had this much fun. But even still, he doesn’t exactly know how he gets from there to here, with his front pressed up against Shiro’s back in a place much quieter than they had been before.

“No worries Hunk,” Shiro’s voice sounds far away for some reason, but maybe that has more to do with the fact that his head feels like it weighs a ton. “I’ll bring him upstairs, he can crash in my bed.”

They’re moving now, and Keith struggles to lift his head so that he can see where they’re going.

“Keith?” Shiro pauses, shrugging Keith up higher onto his back. “Are you awake?”

“Mmf.” He nestles his nose closer to the crook of Shiro’s neck, and he can feel the rumble of Shiro’s chest as he chuckles.

“Hey. Hunk is heading home. Are you good enough to go with him?”

Those are too many words at once, but going home with Hunk means that he has to leave Shiro’s back and Keith knows that he doesn’t want that.

“No. Wanna stay with you.” He mumbles with a sigh. “With you ‘n your stupid abs ‘n your stupid eyes-”

“Well that’s not very nice.” They start moving again and Keith vaguely realizes that they’re on a flight of stairs. “What’s wrong with my eyes?”

“N’ your stupid hat.”

“Geez, why’d you take shots if you’re a lightweight? You’re drunk.”

“You’re hot.”

“ _Keith._ ”

“ _Shiro._ ”

A sigh. “I’m in over my head with you, you know that?”

It’s getting harder and harder to stay awake, because Shiro’s back is really warm and Keith feels safe here, but he tries to mumble something about how _maybe he wants Shiro to be_. He hears the open-shut of a door, and maybe Shiro is saying something to him or maybe he isn’t. It takes too much effort to listen when sleeping takes no effort at all, and between the two it’s not at all a hard choice to make.

The last thing he can remember is the press of something soft and warm against his forehead, and then nothing at all.

\---

There’s a lawn mower roaring outside.

Keith wants to murder whoever thinks it’s okay to cut the grass _that_ loudly. His head is exploding in pain and his mouth is so dry it feels like he ate sand. With a groan, he cracks an eye open only to realize that the ceiling above him is not that of his own room’s. Keith sits up in a panic, ignoring the pain threatening to split his head open for a second as he takes in his surroundings, but relaxes almost instantly because there’s not even a question of whose room he could possibly in.

There are NASA posters on every wall, along with star charts and a galaxy wall tapestry and Keith can’t help but let out a laugh at how predictable this all is. Other than the multitude of space-related paraphernalia, Shiro’s room is neat and simple. There are a few weights and a yoga mat in the corner, with a spacious desk and a closed laptop on top, and a few small potted plants on the windowsill. It’s only then that he realizes there’s a glass of water and a bottle of aspirin on the nightstand beside him, which he reaches for gratefully.

As if on cue, there’s a soft knock at the door before Shiro pokes his head in.

“Hey, you’re awake! How’s your head?”

“Please don’t speak so loud.” Keith groans, scrubbing at his face, and Shiro laughs, stepping in the room before he shuts the door behind him. “Shit, I’m so sorry for whatever happened last night. Did I kick you in my sleep, or-”

“Oh no,” Shiro is quick to interrupt him, looking a bit panicked. “No, no, I didn’t sleep here. I slept on the couch downstairs.”

“Oh.” Keith furrows his brows. “Why?”

“What do you mean _why_.”

“I mean, I would have been fine with sleeping with you.”

Shiro makes a sound as if he’d choked on his own spit, sputtering through his words. “Jesus, Keith. Could you _be_ more dense?

“Huh?”

There’s a moment’s pause, a single pause in their conversation before Shiro pinches the bridge of his nose with two fingers, rubbing the tension away and stalks forward to where Keith is still sitting in his bed, staring down at him with an unidentifiable expression on his face.

“Keith. I’m begging you not to act so defenseless around me. Last night- the things you were saying, it makes it hard for me to control myself.”

 _Oh_.

And just like that, everything changes all at once. Keith rises on his knees, the blankets falling off of him to pool around his legs as he crawls towards where Shiro is standing.

“Then don’t.” He says, hopeful. Wanting. “Don’t control yourself.”

“ _Keith_.” Shiro breathes, eyes wide, looking almost scared as he takes half a step back, and Keith gets it. He understands the terror that Shiro is feeling in his chest because he feels it too.

This is it- this is the great scary unknown, the culmination of both Keith’s greatest hopes and fears at the same time. To find someone who is kind and caring and intelligent and passionate, to let that someone in, to bear your heart and soul to them and to let them know that they own a piece of you- it’s about as scary a thing as Keith could ever imagine. Because people are dishonest and unkind and people _leave_ , especially when they know it kills you when they’re away.

“Shiro,” Keith replies, reaching out with trembling fingers, feeling desperate for Shiro’s touch. He opens his mouth, lips wrapping clumsily around the single most terrifying word he could possibly ask someone.

A word that he has never asked someone before.

“Stay. Please.”

But then without hesitation Shiro is there, sliding his fingers into Keith’s, gripping so tight his knuckles go white, and it’s in that moment that Keith realizes that falling will always be scary right up until someone catches you.

“I just want to treat you right.” Shiro whispers, worry lining his features as he cups Keith’s cheek with his hand. “You don’t have to ask me to stay, Keith. I’m here. I’ll be here for as long as you want me to be.”

 _Always_ is hanging precariously off the tip of Keith’s tongue, so in danger of falling that he leans forward to kiss Shiro hard instead, a pathetic attempt to keep his heart from tumbling out of his mouth. Keith is an artist. His chosen medium for his art has always been graphite or charcoal- which will only produce drawings in black and white, but the moment his lips meet Shiro’s feels like the first time he truly sees the world in colour. It feels so right, like Keith was always meant to find him and yes, to answer his own drunken daydreaming from the night before Shiro’s lips most certainly _are_ as soft as they look.

The kiss goes from soft to desperate in a matter of seconds, the atmosphere shifting once again as soon as Shiro puts his hands on Keith’s waist and squeezes. Keith’s fingers scrabble at Shiro’s chest, pulling him onto the bed by his shirt, and it’s not until Shiro swipes his tongue across Keith’s bottom lip that Keith feels something hard and metal instead of just soft flesh.

“W-what,” Keith pants, feeling breathless. “Shiro, you- is that _a tongue piercing_?”

Instead of answering Shiro just sticks his tongue out through a smile to show the gleaming metal bead nestled in the middle of it, raising his brows.

“I never- never knew you had one. How did I miss it before?”

“Oh there’s still a lot of things you don’t know about me, Keith.” The low murmur of Shiro’s voice is enough to make Keith go from ready to aching in an instant. It’s embarrassing to admit that he’s already painfully hard, especially constricted inside the skin tight jean’s he’s wearing, but then Shiro pulls and Keith goes easily, clambering into Shiro’s lap and grinding down desperately for some sort of friction, something, _anything_.

Thankfully Shiro doesn’t make him wait long at all. He kisses Keith hard, licking into his mouth and unbuttons Keith’s jeans, tugging his own sweatpants down to get a hand around them both.

“ _Shiro_.” Keith groans, leaning forward to rest his forehead against Shiro’s shoulder as Shiro touches him, his one hand big enough to wrap around both of their cocks. Keith bucks his hips even without wanting to, his nails scratching down the sides of Shiro’s arms as he shivers at how good it feels to be touched like this. Their cocks slide together, hot and clumsy and perfect for what seems like seconds or maybe hours, Keith can’t possibly tell but he doesn’t ever want it to end. “Please, _please_.”

“Shhh. I’ve got you, baby.” The hand working over his cock squeezes tighter, pumps faster. “God, you’re beautiful-”

The word _baby_ and then _beautiful_ in tandem is enough to push Keith over the edge, desperately pressing their bodies closer as he comes with Shiro’s name on his lips.

\---

Keith likes mornings.

But late nights are starting to grow on him too, because Shiro likes to pack hot chocolate in a thermos and drive them out of the city, away from the light pollution and the loud bumbling noises of everyday life. They park by the side of the road next to an open grass field that spreads wide into the distance further than the eye can see, and lay down on their backs to gaze at the pathway of stars cutting straight through the inky night sky.

Shiro points out all the constellations that he notices which takes up most of their time because he knows a lot of them, but Keith doesn’t mind. He follows Shiro’s finger with his eyes as it maps out the billions upon billions of stars twinkling above them.

He mouths the names of them, having committed them to memory.

_Denebola, Rigel, Arcturus, Saiph, Bellatrix._

Keith makes a wish on each one, but to tell you the truth, all of his wishes are exactly the same.

And as he threads his fingers through Shiro’s, lying there together with unexplored galaxies floating in front of their very eyes, Keith knows that he has his answer from the stars right there in the palm of his hand.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Count the number of Sheith Easter eggs I've hidden in this self-indulgent disaster of a fic.
> 
> [my tumblr](https://amaanogawa.tumblr.com) / [ko-fi](http://ko-fi.com/A31851F8)


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